


Deep roots are not reached by the frost

by Ki_ru



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Budding Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Near Death Experiences, Romance, wholesome Bandit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 03:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16297055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_ru/pseuds/Ki_ru
Summary: Blitz almost dies on a mission and Rook ensures that he doesn't. In this, they deal with the aftermath.





	Deep roots are not reached by the frost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mi723](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mi723/gifts).



He never liked hospitals much. He’s hardly alone with this attitude yet he’s heard there are people out there who find them comforting, seek solace in the knowledge of not having to worry about much, about someone else taking over responsibility. He prefers being in charge himself and being reminded how fragile his body is, how easy it would be to never walk again or be discharged, unable to perform his job, eats at his confidence. His self image is largely dependent on how well he does in Rainbow, a close link formed even in the very first weeks and now, only a few months later, he already can’t imagine life without this colourful group of operators around him. He’s come to realise he _needs_ this or his self-worth would plummet, and so being confined to a bed in a foreign country has him almost stir-crazy.

Parts of his body won’t obey him, other parts refuse to work the way they’re intended and he despises being this weak. For the others, he puts on a brave face, smiles through the pain, reassures them he’s fine, not to worry, he’s not bored at all, no, thank you for asking. He refuses to be a burden and so he’s perfectly at ease with his situation whenever anyone’s there even if Bandit’s narrow gaze indicates he’s not falling for it one bit. Figures. Professional liars are always good at spotting kindred spirits. He doesn’t tell on him but what he does do after one visit is to hang back and offer him a cigarette. Blitz has only tried smoking a few times and remembers it as vile but he accepts nonetheless.

He coughs his way through it, grimacing for no one’s benefit and it’s refreshing to not feel obliged to pretend he likes it. Bandit smokes by his side, silent and not even smirking over his suffering. Oddly, it helps. It’s a little like rebelling against the entirely too professional medical staff as the doctor he’s seen maybe five minutes in total would probably have a heart attack if he saw him like this, and so it’s refreshing. The awful taste lingers but he refuses to wash it down because it’s a sensory _fuck you_ to everything holding him down. He’s not dead. He can do what he wants. He’s still himself.

 

There’s a recent change with which he’s very much not okay yet. He’d be fine if it had been just him on the brink of death, water under the bridge, he’ll eventually heal and go back to doing what he always does, but it’s not just him. He only needs to turn his head to the side to see a shock of brown curls spread out on a pillow just like his own yet so far he’s avoided doing so because he’s not ready. Not in the state he’s in right now, not as delicate and shaken as he allows himself to be only when he’s alone.

For a while, he obsesses about the presence next to him, wonders whether the young man is studying him with reproach or pride, but when he finally looks over, bright blue eyes are fixed on the ceiling just like his own were, lost in thought. Rook senses his attention, however, and returns the gaze. He looks pitiful, maybe even more mangled than Blitz himself – fell down the same crack Blitz did, according to what the others told him, crawled to the same place vaguely shielded from the icy wind. Rook’s fall was worse though. He still made it over to him.

“You’re alive”, Rook murmurs and sounds surprised as if all his actions hadn’t been aimed towards achieving this fact. “I’m so glad.”

Blitz starts to cry.

It’s a culmination of it all, the pressure of not making anyone worry, the guilt, the gratefulness, the stress and the fear of not recovering fully. Most of all he feels unworthy of Rook’s troubled smile – he gladly would’ve given his life if it meant the young man in the bed next to his would’ve been spared all this pain. His tears are silent, hot streaks on his cheeks, burning his skin where they touch it and souring the peaceful atmosphere between them: Rook’s brows draw together and Blitz wants to reach out and smooth them back, wipe the concerned frown off his face and gently stroke his usual smile back onto his mouth, fingers drawing over the curving of his lips. He also doesn’t want to worry Rook. But he can’t stop crying.

 

He familiarises himself with Rook’s hands over the next days. He’s not allowed to get up but does so nonetheless, sits by his sleeping beauty’s side for hours and watches the rapid movement of his eyes under his lids, the way his lip trembles sometimes, his fingers twitching as he recovers while unconscious. Blitz’ fingertips trace the rivers of his veins on the backs of his hands and the turmoil inside him calms whenever he finds the skin warm. He catches himself shivering now and then despite being wrapped in several layers at all times, having requested more than one blanket and regularly waking up sweating profusely. It’s better than being cold.

Rook’s hands are softer than his, less calloused, and the lines weaving their way through his palm less prominent than Blitz’. Sometimes, his fingers curl around Blitz’ while he sleeps. Sometimes when he’s not sleeping. The grip is tighter and they readily interlace with his even though Rook keeps pretending to be asleep. Both of them know he’s not. After a few days, Blitz can feel the young man’s eyes on his when he encases a hand with both of his own but he doesn’t meet his gaze. The debt is too large. He owes him.

Eventually, it’s not just hands anymore. Rook’s hair, normally silky and soft, is now sweaty and dull but Blitz doesn’t care. He explores the curve of his jaw, holds his breath when Rook tilts his head back for better access, brushes over his nose, strokes his cheek, even dares to touch his lips. They press against his thumb momentarily in a weak kiss and Blitz _can’t_. Not after all he’s done for him. He withdraws his hand and shakes his head when Rook motions for him to give it back. They need to talk.

“You could’ve died”, he says.

Rook is ready. “You _would’ve_ died.”

It’s true. Their shared body heat is what saved them and as furious as Sledge was upon Rook disobeying his orders to stay in and not go outside to look for Blitz, he’s now relieved Rook sneaked out regardless. Because instead of a dead operator, he has two injured ones now which he deems an improvement. Blitz isn’t sure it is, not when he sees Rook’s broken smile. He, too, tries not to make anyone worry. Bandit just shook his head at them both.

“If you hadn’t found me, we both would be dead right now. It was a lucky coincidence that you did.”

“Maybe it was more than a coincidence though.”

“No. It wasn’t.”

Rook was probably joking, so Blitz’ serious reply seems to amuse him. “No. You’re right.”

“Why did you do it?”

The question scares him witless. It was more than a month ago that Rook asked him out, expressed interest and inquired whether it was reciprocated. Blitz declined for a multitude of reasons ranging from possible work complications to inexperience on his part, but most of all he didn’t want to disappoint Rook if it turned out he wasn’t as invested as the young man seemed to be. Surprisingly, Rook accepted his answer easily enough and never mentioned it again, but _this_.

This.

If it turns out he risked his own life to save Blitz’ purely out of completely misguided sentimentalism, an obligation born from an unhealthy infatuation, Blitz wouldn’t be able to live with himself. If unrequited love was all which drove Rook to such extremes, not only will Blitz never be able to repay him, he’ll also have to request a reassignment. Personal feelings must not get in the way of their work. He’ll forever blame himself for not being more insistent upon turning Rook down, for not squashing any hope he might’ve had left. Besides, he’s sure that Rook will in time come to regret his actions.

However, Rook’s response baffles him. “I get asked a lot why I’m in Rainbow and I never had a proper answer. It wasn’t mean, just curiosity I think – but everyone else has something special to them. Something only they are good at. I don’t. And when I tell people, they always seem to expect more, seem to think there’s something I’m hiding or haven’t realised myself but they’re wrong. I thought they were wrong. I had nothing.”

It’s the first Blitz hears of this. He’s noticed Rook and his friends joke about it before but never got the impression it affected the Frenchman to this extent. “That’s not true, you -”

Rook pays no heed to his objection and simply continues: “Remember the mission in Brazil? You put together your own team and wanted me on it. I don’t think you know I overheard the conversation, but someone suggested someone else instead. And you said: _I’d feel much safer knowing Julien has my back_.”

He remembers. He needed someone whom he could trust completely, someone who wouldn’t miss a single shot. And while a lot of operators fulfilled this requirement, he specifically wanted Rook.

“And so I thought: what if this is what I’m here for? To allow you all to do your special thing while I provide cover. As a support. As someone you can rely on. Someone who makes sure you don’t have to worry.”

“But with this, you went too far”, Blitz states quietly.

“Did I? We’re both alive, aren’t we? I finally found what I’m good at. And I’m not apologising for it. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

Blitz shakes his head but there’s not much he can say. Rook has made up his mind and seems content with his conclusions, so the only thing left to do is offer his hand again which Rook takes immediately, squeezing and offering a smile. It’s genuine this time, not the pale shadow Rook shows the others.

So it wasn’t an obsession, no arbitrary flight of fancy which Rook filled with entirely too much importance. Instead, it was loyalty, admiration and altruism. Blitz is familiar with all of them. Maybe they share more than he was aware of. Maybe he needs to re-think his decision.

 

Bandit gets sent ahead because he’s the only one not hungry. Jäger keeps teasing him about being worried and usually earns a snarky response or an elbow in the ribs for it, but he’s probably right, as much as it pains Bandit to admit it. He hasn’t been eating or sleeping much and is the only one to always accompany whoever is heading to the hospital that day. It’s not that he enjoys the visits, he’s usually worse off afterwards because the whole fucking building depresses him to no end but he still goes with a grim determination. It feels like the right thing to do.

He braces himself for another barrage of lies and reassurances, takes a deep breath and enters the room without knocking – he doesn’t need to, Rook and Blitz are the only occupants and their families won’t travel this far to visit them now. At first, he’s alarmed at seeing Blitz’ bed empty and him not sitting by the other one, but he spots him at a second glance.

It’s a mirror to how they were found.

They’re curled into each other as much as their injuries allow them, breath mingling and foreheads touching. They’re holding hands, chests rising and falling slowly, eyes closed this time not due to unconsciousness but restful sleep, rosy – not blue – lips parted, eyelashes devoid of fine crystals fanning over healthy-looking cheeks. Neither of them is shivering, unlike Blitz whenever Bandit saw him sleep recently.

He looks at them, looks until this image replaces the one which haunted his dreams, replaces blinding snow with the pristine white of the sheets, replaces two almost-corpses with _this_ , something budding. Replaces what could’ve been an ending with a beginning. Once he can’t remember the original anymore, can’t remember the dread and shock, he turns around and closes the door softly.

When he arrives in the cafeteria, he announces: “They’re sleeping. Let’s come back later.”

“What, you don’t even want to draw dicks on Elias’ face?”, IQ jokes and nudges him.

Normally he’d grin and make a counter suggestion but he just shakes his head now. Not this time. “You know what”, he switches topics after noticing the snacks in IQ’s hands, “I’ll get something to eat too.” And he ignores the meaningful glance IQ and Jäger exchange.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit [my tumblr](http://kiruuuuu.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to say hi ❤ I'm much more active there :)


End file.
